A Musical Affair
by Seeroftodayandtomorrow
Summary: Blaine's life has been shaped by scandal. Now his livelihood and, it sometimes seems, his sanitiy depend on him being as inconspicuous as possible. But a group of unusual friends cause his resolve to totter, and a beautiful singer might shatter it completely. Historical AU
1. Chapter 1

Blaine's life changed, quite literally, with a bang.

It was the noise his father's pistol made when it went off, leaving his father lying crumbled on the floor of his study, the pistol still clutched in his lifeless hand.

The maid who found him kept her head, and quietly alerted the butler, who in turn alerted the lady of the house, Blaine's mother, and after that, the authorities.

The policeman who arrived was rather more flustered than such an obvious suicide seemed to justify, while Lady Dalton seemed unusually calm for the occasion. She glanced once at her husband's body and then retreated to her own study to write a note to her modiste, ordering mourning clothes, and then a letter to her son, ordering him home from school.

By the time Blaine arrived, things had cleared up a little, and the reasons for his father's suicide were slowly coming to light. He had not been prone to depression, instead being in the lucky condition of always considering himself in the right and everyone else inherently inferior. His wealth and position in life had confirmed him in that opinion. For him to take his own life would have been unimaginable only a week ago. Yet there he was, laid out in his bedroom, awaiting his funeral that a generous sum given to the vicar ensured would be inside the graveyard instead of outside its walls, despite the blasphemous nature of his death.

In the end, his suicide was labeled as "doing the honorable thing". It meant that what he had done was too bad to live with it—or not exactly bad, because surely a peer of the realm was above such behavior—but unworthy enough that only death could atone for it, and that seeking it for himself was acting honorably. To Blaine, it mostly meant that he acted like a coward, leaving his family to deal with the repercussions by themselves.

Or, as it turned out, his families.

"What do you mean, you are not his wife?" he could not help interrupting when his mother and their family solicitor sat him down in the library to explain the situation.

"It turns out your father was a bigamist," Blaine's mother said bitterly, turning her head away. "And to think I always hesitated to leave him, because of the scandal..."

Blaine turned helplessly towards the solicitor, hoping for him to explain the situation.

The solicitor actually blushed. "It appears that the late Lord Dalton was already married when he wed your honored mother. He managed to hide the marriage, which he seemed to regret after a very short time, but that doesn't change that this lady, not your mother, was—she is recently deceased—the real countess."

"But -"

"No but. I am not and have never been a countess. And you, dear Blaine, are not an earl."

"But I am my father's son," Blaine protested, although he silently wondered if another surprise was coming his way in that regard. The coldness of his parents' marriage had been no secret. But no, he looked like his father too much for there to be any doubt about his parentage.

"Illegitimate son, since your parents were not actually married," the solicitor said. "In addition to that, your father's marriage to his lady was blessed with offspring."

"I have siblings?" Blaine's elder brother Cooper had died when Blaine was still a toddler. He hardly remembered him, but had always wished for a brother.

"You have an older half-brother. He is the new Lord Dalton. He also wishes no contact with you or your mother, but instead is eager to claim his inheritance."

Blaine's excitement that had barely dared lift its head died again. He swallowed. "So what about us?"

"We move in with my mother," his mother said, "and live out our days in genteel poverty."

It was not poverty, not even genteel. Blaine only had an inkling about what real poverty looked like—he had been advised to avoid certain regions of the city if he wanted his purse and his body intact—but it wasn't this. His grandmother lived in a spacious town house that was close enough to Mayfair to be almost fashionable, with enough staff to make them comfortable, and an excellent cook.

But that didn't mean there were no differences to his old life. His valet was given notice and replaced with the occasional services of his grandmother's footman. He was taken out of school completely, the fees being too high to let him complete even his last year. He was given the choice between a different, cheaper school, and staying home with his mother and grandmother and thinking about maybe finding some sort of work. His mother gasped at that word, but Blaine knew he was educated enough to make him eligible for work as a clerk or some such, and he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

He chose to stay home, to give himself the opportunity to get used to his new situation as much as to avoid being the subject of gossip by his classmates.

But there was no avoiding being the subject of gossip by society in general.

Everything happened very fast after that talk in the library. Blaine and his mother packed their things and moved in with Blaine's grandmother, who graciously, as she explained, opened her home to them on the condition that they, on their part, accept a few conditions of their own.

"I have been the cause of scandal once," she declared. "Now you have been as well, through no fault of your own, but that is it. Not even the shadow of any new scandal will taint this house or any that live in it."

Blaine, he often thought, took the restrictions on his behavior with more ease then his mother. Declaring herself too young still to be a matron, she longed to be the belle of the ball again, reliving that one season she had danced through before being married off—or so everyone thought—to the older, sedate and as it turned out, ill-tempered, neglectful and deceitful Earl of Dalton.

Almost from the first day of their stay, she began arguing with Grandmother.

"What does it matter if I cause any more scandal? They can hardly gossip any more than they already do! What scandal could possibly surpass a case of bigamy?"

But since Grandmama held the purse strings, Mother was forced to relent and accept the more appropriate diversions she was allowed, and to make the most of them.

"There is one good thing about all this mess after all," she said, not being one to dwell on the negative, "I don't have to wear black."

While Mother reworked her gowns in the most colorful and fanciful way she could while still adhering to Grandmama's idea of good taste, Blaine quietly and regretfully banned his patterned waistcoats with their mother-of-pearl buttons to the back of his closet. He felt that the sedately striped ones in various shades of gray were more fitting for his own desire to be noticed as little as possible.

But of course, even the most inconspicuous waistcoat was no use against gossip. Mother was right: they were a source of scandal, and until the next came along and diverted society's attention, they would be stared at and talked about wherever they went.

Blaine stood against a wall, to his one side an ornate column, to his other a decorative plant. He was balancing a saucer and cup of tea in one hand, but the tea had long since grown cold, as he had only accepted it in order to have something to do with his hands.

He was chaperoning, as Grandmama had called it, his mother to a musical soiree. For his mother, it was much needed society, talk and flirting; for Blaine, it was...well. He was aware that a musical soiree was an opportunity for the young ladies to exhibit their talents and accomplishments, and for the gentlemen, it was an opportunity to admire them and maybe even dare propose the occasional duet. In short, it meant that Grandmama had not given up hope that despite being merely the illegitimate son of a disgraced earl, he might make an eligible match.

Blaine did not share that hope. In fact, not being required to marry might be the one good thing to come out of this mess. Having had only his parents' marriage—or what passed as a marriage—as an example, he did not think sharing his life with someone in that way was a good idea.

Although he had heard his grandparents' marriage had been loving and happy and that his grandfather had never rued the day he had almost made himself an outcast in polite society when he brought home his bride from the Philippines after the British Invasion.

He wouldn't mind the companionship a good marriage would bring, but he somehow didn't expect to make a good marriage.

In the meantime, being forced to attend these soirees and parties was little short of torture. They were stared at and whispered about at every turn, conversations would suddenly and awkwardly cease when he came into the vicinity of any group of people, and every greeting, or so he imagined, was followed by the whispered question of, "Isn't that the one who...?"

Mother mostly enjoyed the attention. But then, she was the wronged woman, the betrayed bride, and still young and beautiful enough to attract the right kind of sympathy.

Blaine was...merely a side effect, his very existence the result of deception. There were, he thought, still people who might think that being conceived in such a way would influence his character.

And so he leaned against the wall, seeking to disappear between the column and the plant until the blessed hour when they would finally be able to leave.

He winced at a sharp note from the girl currently singing.

"Terrible, isn't it?" a low voice came from the plant. A young lady, scarcely taller than the plant and in a dress in a similar color, that, Blaine thought, any self-respecting maid would never let her mistress leave the house in, glanced towards the group assembled around the piano and then back at him.

He recognized her, of course. Anyone who was anyone would. Rachel St. James, obscenely rich heiress who wore her married name that suggested the King's court with an attitude that seemed to regard this proximity to royalty as a birthright. She and her husband were so rich and had made themselves such an integral part of society that people all but overlooked Rachel's Jewish background and the fact that her father had made his fortune as a merchant.

By her next words, it was obvious she had recognized him as well. "How do I address you now that you're not Lord Dalton anymore?"

"Um...Blaine Anderson will do at the moment. My mother's maiden name. My grandfather was a baronet, but it's yet to be decided if I am allowed to bear his title."

"Well, Mr. Anderson, I know and understand that you're unhappy to be here. Who wouldn't be, with these performances? But don't you dare leave. I'm singing later tonight, and you don't want to miss that."

Then she was gone, mingling with the guests in her awful green dress, diminutive in stature but still standing out. Leaving him leaning against his wall, sipping his cold tea.

He would have risked her wrath by leaving early, had only his mother shown any inclination to do so. But she was sitting on an overstuffed chaiselongue in the back of the room, a glass of wine in her hand, and various men offering her sweetmeats on trays, competing for a glance from her eyes or a smile from her lips. Or so Blaine imagined. He wouldn't go back there for the world, not even to escape the newest singer.

Later tonight didn't arrive fast enough. He leaned against the wall, managed to avoid being talked to but not being stared at. Twice, he left his hiding place, once to use the gentlemen's room and once to acquire a second cup of tea, since he had somehow drained the first after all. He listened to the singers and the pianists, bad ones and good, and watched the people wander around the room, talking above the music.

Then, finally, the last performance of the evening was announced. The lady in question didn't need to put herself forward in order to find a husband anymore. She sang purely from love of the music—and, Blaine suspected, from a love of putting herself forward.

She was also very talented. It made Blaine actually glad he had stayed that long, and he closed his eyes to shut out the awful green dress and just listened to the music.

Afterwards, as the guests slowly began to search for their coats and shawls and head towards the entry, Rachel came up to him.

"Well, aren't you glad you stayed?" she asked, not at all shy in demanding the compliments her due.

"I am," Blaine said and couldn't help but smile. "You have an amazing voice."

"Since you obviously have good taste, I want to give you this."

She handed him a small, surprisingly tasteful calling card; it stated that Lady St. James was "at home" on Wednesday morning.

"Only for a small group of very special friends," she said. "Do come."


	2. Chapter 2

"You have to go," Grandmama said after taking a critical look at the card. "Lady Rachel St. James isn't quite the thing, of course, but she is influential enough we can't afford to offend her." She gave back the card, then added under her breath, "Or anyone, really."

Blaine was glad. He had wanted to go; at the very least, Rachel hadn't seemed to judge him on anything else than his musical taste, and hadn't seemed too curious about him. Maybe it was just that she was really self-involved; if so, he should take care to surround himself with self-involved people.

Truth be told, he was lonely. He missed the company of his friends—if they could be called such, since none of them had written or called on him since he left school. But he missed other young people, or other people in general that were not his mother or grandmother. Maybe he should go back to school after all. Even if it was not Cambridge, but something more suited to his present lifestyle. He would make new friends, who had never known him as the son and heir of the Earl of Dalton. And after graduating, maybe he could become a barrister. It was a gentleman's position and would perhaps appease his mother, who had yet to come to terms with the fact that her son might actually have to make a living.

It wouldn't be so bad. Would it?

He'd be...one of many. He wouldn't be noticed. Beau Brummel had said that to be truly elegant, one must strive to go unnoticed. Well, Blaine would be as elegant as one could be.

Still, for this occasion, he chose a waistcoat that was a little more out there than what he usually wore, and felt a little more like himself as a consequence. His grandmother straightened his cravat as he was about to leave, giving him an appraising look.

"You never know who might be there," she said with a wink, and he knew she meant eligible young ladies. He had no ambitions in that direction; his only goal, for now, was to enjoy himself and maybe make a few friends.

There were, actually, more than a few young ladies sitting in Lady St. James's morning parlor, and the picture before him was as diverse as London itself. A young black lady was talking to the hostess, and another with similar facial features to his grandmother was sitting at the piano. He instantly felt at home; although his grandmother was in manners and habits as English as could be and Blaine had inherited little of her features, he had been made to feel he was different for his whole life.

He was given a few uneasy or curious looks after introductions had been made, but nothing out of the ordinary, although a blonde girl by name of Miss Pierce asked him at every given opportunity how he felt now he was not an earl anymore. At first it had been interesting to him since no one had ever taken his feelings into account in this whole affair, but after a while, it became unsettling.

Fortunately, the opportunities presented were not many, as the morning was mostly spent singing. Everyone had a good voice, some even equaling Rachel's, with the exception of maybe a quirky young person with the unconventional name of Sugar. He felt unkind thinking this, but at least, he did not seem alone in that opinion, even though Sugar herself seemed to hold her own talent in higher esteem than it deserved.

Sir Jesse St. James was not present, but a few other gentlemen were, and the duets sung often seemed to hold a similar air of expectation as they did in a more public setting. A few duets sung, like a few dances danced together, seemed to be courtship and promise, be it only for a day or so. It was, Blaine thought, something he did not wish to participate in, and for once was happy that, in this society as well as everywhere else, he did not count as eligible anymore. He varied his duet partners and sang more often with Lady Rachel than with anyone else, as she was already married. After a few times, however, Lady Rachel stopped him.

"My husband is the musically jealous sort," she said, smiling. "I have to take care not to sing with another more often than I sing with him, or there will be trouble. He would be here today, were it not for business, but you will meet him another time."

Blaine smiled as he imagined the reaction grandmama would have at the mention of "business", but he was glad at the implied invitation. "Gladly," he replied, and it wasn't a polite lie. He had heard a lot about Sir Jesse, and while there was no great scandal anywhere, he seemed an unconventional gentleman who did not give too much importance to societal rules.

After an hour or so, he took his leave, thinking it best not to overstay his welcome on his first visit. He received the hoped for invitation for next week, and as he was already taking his coat from the footman, the lady hurried after him.

"I almost forgot," she said. "I need you to accompany me tomorrow evening, if you're not otherwise engaged. It will be the most delightful evening, but St. James doesn't care for these things. He doesn't mind me going, though, but I can hardly go by myself."

"I'm at your service," Blaine said because there was no other option and also because he had a feeling that maybe Rachel's idea of a delightful evening would better match his own than, say, his mother's. "Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Just come pick me up after dinner, and don't wear evening clothes."

He all but snuck out of the house the next evening, only telling grandmama he had an engagement with Lady St. James. She didn't seem to know if she should be pleased about him apparently having earned the lady's esteem, but she nodded, not even asking what kind of engagement it was. He crept back up the stairs to change out of his evening clothes after dinner, and then went on foot to Lady St. James house rather than take his grandmama's equipage and risk the coachman reporting back to her.

The lady was dressed simply as well, which rather suited her, and in her carriage, she finally filled him in on where they were going.

"A friend of my father's...well. He's not exactly what you would call a respectable man. He's an actor, or at least, he wanted to be. But no theater would have him, and so, he now has an...unlicensed theater club, if you will. He gathers all kinds of talented people and hosts performances in this little assembly hall, and it's always really special. Sometimes I sing there as well, though then I go masked."

"That sounds interesting," Blaine said politely. He wasn't at all sure it was the kind of event he should be visiting, and he was especially glad his grandmother didn't know where he was going. It didn't sound like the sort of respectable evening she would like him to have.

"I especially want you to meet a friend of mine," Lady St. James continued. "Now, you must see, these are all people I knew before my marriage, and so they are not of the _ton._ You would meet none of them at one of Lady Susan's soirées or at a ball. My friend is a wonderful singer, and a wonderful person."

"I'm sure he is." Blaine leaned back into the seat of the carriage. Whatever might happen, he was in for an...unusual evening.

The part of town the carriage finally stopped in was not one Blaine had visited often before. It was not exactly poor—the houses were small, but well-kept, and there were some very fine shops—but Blaine was still glad he was wearing tweeds. His usual evening garb would have screamed "Rob me!" to anyone who saw him.

They entered a building that was just this side of run down—Blaine suspected the darkness and dim light of the street lamps made the house look better than it would in the harsher light of day. Some efforts had been made to give everything a festive air: there were fresh flowers in vases on the stairs of the front entrance, everything was spotlessly clean and freshly scrubbed with some sort of scented oil.

It was, Rachel explained, a little-used assembly hall, as people in this part of town rarely visited balls or parties. Its main use this days was for political assemblies and, increasingly, for the little performances Mr. Schuester's group was staging.

They sat down in the seats arranged in front of a small stage. Blaine made himself comfortable, expecting a strange but certainly enjoyable evening.

There were a lot of talented performers. Most sang, but a few danced, and Lady St. James whispered each performer's name to him before their performance. He had not expected to remember them, but he forgot all of them as soon as, in the second half of the evening, a young man appeared on stage.

He was pale, with brown hair in an upswept Brutus hairstyle that suited him better than any other man Blaine had ever seen, with the exception of, maybe, Beau Brummel himself. His black suit was simple but impeccably cut, and when he started to sing, his voice was nothing but angelic.

Blaine felt himself start to sweat. He was uncomfortable aware of it, seemed to feel drops and then a steady trickle of sweat running down his back. He wiped his shaking hands on his trousers, then took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. His dismay increased when Lady St. James touched his arm, whispering, "This is my dear friend, Kurt Hummel. I'll introduce you later."

Introduce! He was to know this man! He'd have fled if he could, but he knew there was no way to escape the introduction without looking like a fool. He'd just have to take care not to make himself look like a fool when he stood before him. Kurt. He feared he would blush and stutter and make a bad impression. Why did Rachel's friend have to be this Mr. Hummel? Why not anyone of the other performers?

He leaned back and tried to focus on the song, but it was no use: beautiful as it was, Kurt was more beautiful, and his voice only increased his attraction. Blaine would have to employ a lot of deception in the next few weeks to be his usual cheerful, serene self at home.

When Kurt finished his song and an encore, Blaine clapped so hard his palms hurt. He couldn't help himself; even when Lady St. James turned to him with a big smile and people in the row before them turned to see who was applauding so enthusiastically, he didn't stop.

Only when Kurt rose from his bow and seemed to look directly at him with a pleased and somewhat confused smile, Blaine let his hands sink. He was embarrassed, but Rachel seemed pleased.

"He is amazing, isn't he?" she said, and Blaine could only nod, feeling warmth and color creep onto his cheeks.

For the rest of the performance, he tried to control his emotions. At the very least, he had to manage to not show them on the outside. When it was over, he applauded with the rest of the audience, not showing any special appreciation even when Kurt returned to take his bow with the others. His knees shook a little when he rose, but he correctly offered Rachel his arm when they made their way through the leaving audience towards the back of the stage.

Still, he had a feeling that meeting Mr. Hummel, even shaking his hands, and not showing anything of what he felt would be very difficult.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine had known for quite some time that he leaned towards men. There had been a time of agonizing about it, of course, of desperately hoping that soon he would start to feel about girls the way the other boys his age seemed to. But then, at Eton and later at Cambridge, there had been other boys like him, even if all of them pretended they were only "helping each other out" because there were no ladies.

He was comfortable enough now, and most of the time didn't think anything was wrong with him anymore. But law and public opinion were against like him, and he had been resigned to furtive encounters now and then.

He had not expected something like this. He had hoped never to meet someone like this. Someone he felt an instant attraction to, who he knew would occupy his thoughts, if not his actions, for weeks to come. Even if he never saw him again.

But he would. He was standing next to Lady St. James, smiling politely, while she talked to some acquaintance for what felt like hours. He didn't know if he wished her to hurry up or to take longer. At the end of this conversation, they would continue backstage, where he would be introduced to Mr. Hummel.

He was sure his grandmama wouldn't approve of any of this. She had said, yesterday at breakfast, that she was content with Blaine and his mother's behavior, their discretion and the way they conducted themselves in public. Blaine had smiled and thanked her, thinking to himself that she was content only because his mother's flirting didn't reach her ears. And afterwards, she had told them again how important it was that no scandal ever afflicted anyone in her household again.

He doubted that getting pilloried for buggery would not be a scandal in grandmama's eyes. Or maybe they'd hang him, and his mother would be left to fend for herself. Or would he be beheaded? He wasn't sure if he'd be executed as a lord or as a commoner.

And even with these depressing and increasingly convoluted thoughts, he was getting ahead of himself. He had not even met Mr. Hummel yet. It was a big step from seeing him on stage to getting convicted for gross indecency.

There was no reason to think Kurt would even be inclined -

Now Rachel was taking leave of her acquaintance. Blaine smiled once more and got ready to shake her hand, but the lady turned and was gone without even a look at him.

"So rude!" Rachel exclaimed. "I apologize. Usually, people who come here are a little more...open-minded."

"It doesn't matter. It's better than the alternative." Being ignored merely made him feel uncomfortable in his skin; worse were the stares and the whispers and the sympathetic words.

Rachel gave him a glance and then took his arm again. Together, they finally stood before the tiny rooms that, Rachel explained, served as dressing rooms for the performers. Without giving him time to prepare, she knocked on the door, asking, "My dear Mr. Hummel! Are you there?"

"There", Blaine thought, had to be a euphemism for "dressed". The man who opened the door was, however, not dressed—or at least, not completely. Blaine's mouth went dry as he saw Mr. Hummel standing there in only trousers and a shirt. When, after a few seconds, he managed to lift his eyes to the man's face, he saw he looked as shocked as he did.

"Excuse me for a second," the man said, and closed the door. When he opened it again a moment later, he was in the process of buttoning a waistcoat. It did not make him look any less seductive to Blaine.

"You should have told me you brought a guest," Kurt gently rebuked Rachel while he let her kiss his cheeks.

"Well, how was I to know that you would open the door all _en deshabill_ _é?_ Anyway, let me present a new friend to you. He joined us yesterday in hour little group and has been a great asset. Mr. Kurt Hummel, Mr. Blaine Anderson."

"Pleased to meet you," both of them murmured and shook hands.

"You were the gentleman who was so kind as to...show his appreciation."

Blaine blushed. He knew Kurt had seen him clap until his hands were tired. "I was very impressed with your performance. I know I got a little...overly enthusiastic."

"Oh no, it was very flattering."

"All performers love applause," Rachel said, who until then had been surprisingly silent. "You don't heve to be embarrassed."

"Really," Kurt said. "I loved it."

"Well." Blaine felt awkward; he rubbed his hand along his neck. For a second, he imagined cupping his hand around the back of Kurt's neck and pulling him close. Sharply, he called himself to order. "I loved your song. _Voi che sapete._ Very interesting choice."

Kurt's smile faded. "I've been told before that even though Cherubino is male, he is sung by a woman and therefore I shouldn't sing this song."

"Oh no, I didn't mean it that way. As I said, I loved it. It might have been written for a woman; you made it sound like it was written only for you."

That made Kurt smile again, although he lifted a rebuking finger as he said, "Now you flatter me too much, sir."

"Mr. Anderson is very charming," Rachel said, smiling. "I hoped that maybe he could prevail upon you to join us again next Wednesday. It has been so long since you were with us, and we all missed you very much."

It seemed it was Kurt's turn to blush now. "I'll see what I can do", he promised.

Rachel shook her head. "Well, it seems like that's the best I can hope for." She took Kurt's hand and suddenly grew serious. "Please come. We've really missed you. You know you are always welcome with us."

Kurt nodded briefly, unsmiling. Then, he bowed to them. "It seems I will see you next Wednesday, then."

It was a clear dismissal. Blaine's mind was reeling a little with the abruptness of it. He hadn't even quite understood he had actually met Kurt, spoken to him, shaken his hand; and now he was standing outside again, the cold air quickly prompting Rachel and him to go to her carriage.

Thankfully, she didn't try to talk to him. He spent the drive back to her house in silence, remembering Kurt's cool hand in his, and the way the freckles on his nose stood out when he blushed.

He got through the next few days by claiming he didn't feel well. He hid in his room, supplied with a lot of hot tea and _The Italian._ It was one of his favorite novels, but even its delicious terrors couldn't hold his attention too long. Again and again, his thoughts drifted off to Kurt. Mr. Hummel, he should think of him as Mr. Hummel. Or, better yet, he shouldn't think of him at all.

He couldn't stop himself, though. Just as he had feared, Kurt entered his mind at the most inopportune moments. Once, Blaine even couldn't resist and indulged himself enough to wrap his hand around his own throbbing cock to vague thoughts of Kurt doing the same.

Then came the day he couldn't hide any longer. On Saturday there was a ball, given by her Ladyship, Susan Sylvester, who was known to have the most lavish affairs. His mother had received a coveted invitation. Blaine thought they mostly wanted her there as a source of entertainment, to be stared at and gossiped about, like the veiled soothsayer the year before last. Still, his mother was overjoyed and determined to go, and he was to chaperone her once again. His comfort was that Lady St. James would most certainly be there, and maybe, if she talked to him, he would find the courage to ask about her acquaintance with Mr. Hummel.

His mother was long in getting ready, and so when they arrived fashionably late, Lady Susan's ball room was already crowded. He soon found Lady St. James, or rather, she found him, and took him by the arm to make some official introductions to people he had already met the previous Wednesday.

"This, as you know, is Mrs. Mercedes Evans, and her new husband, Captain Samuel Evans." She nodded towards a handsome blond man, who smiled good-naturedly.

"Captain not much longer, I fear. I am in the process of selling my commission. We are retiring to the country in order to start our married life and, hopefully, a family."

"Which is why we are here, actually," his wife added with a wry smile. "We are not usually invited to such great events, but since this is likely to be our last season in London for quite some time, Lady Susan made an exception."

"Then I would never forgive myself if I didn't take the opportunity to ask you to dance the next two with me," Blaine said with a smile, and lead Mrs. Evans to the dance floor.

After that, he danced with Lady St. James, and then brought both ladies a glass of punch before excusing himself to take his own glass to the balcony for some fresh air.

As he stood there and looked out into the night, he thought—of course—of Kurt. What was he doing right now? Was he at a different ball somewhere else? But no, Rachel had said that he was no gentleman and would not go to balls.

"And what are you doing here so alone, handsome?"

A man entered the balcony. Blaine didn't know him, but as he stepped into the light, he could see that he was young, tall and very expensively dressed.

He also suspected he knew the reason why the man had sought him out on the balcony, and he wondered if since he returned, he had done something to betray that he preferred men.

Blaine didn't answer, but the man was undeterred. He came forward and stood next to Blaine, very close, and leaned over the balustrade.

"This is a very nice park," he said. "Dark, as well. I bet there are a lot of places people could be alone together, and...undisturbed."

Blaine wasn't sure what to say. He had never been spoken to in such a direct way; even at school, even when it was completely clear what they wanted, the boys had been more circumspect. Truth be told, he also wasn't entirely disinclined. He wasn't sure he liked the way the man spoke to him, but it had been a long time, and thoughts of Kurt had woken feelings that had long lain silent.

Still, he worried how he had betrayed himself that the man dared speak to him so openly.

"You are very forward, sir," he managed, and the man turned towards him with a smile.

"I had a feeling you would be...amenable to my suggestion. And even if not, well—I am an experienced pugilist and concerning any other threats anyone might make, I have found that money makes a lot of these go away."

Blaine looked again at the other man. Talking so openly about money was something else a gentleman didn't do. But he found he didn't find that attitude so very unattractive.

He couldn't believe he was seriously considering taking the man's offer and find a secluded spot in the park for a secret tryst. Although, he would like to not make it quite so secret. He would at least like to know the name of the man he would maybe soon let touch him.

"I don't believe we have been introduced, sir. Might I inquire your name?"

"Of course, since you ask so nicely. And since it is both of us standing here in the dark, I will trust you not to speak to anyone about this. My name is Sebastian Smythe."


	4. Chapter 4

"Smythe."

It took a few seconds until Blaine understood. Then, every bit of desire he might have felt evaporated like mist, and like mist, it left behind only cold.

He didn't immediately say something. It was probable he wouldn't be able to, anyway; it felt like his voice would stick in his throat.

In a way, he thought, it was a relief. Between Kurt and all that he was trying to do—or rather not to do—since his life had changed so drastically, he didn't need the complications that a fling in the gardens of Lady Susan's townhouse might bring.

"You...you are the new Earl of Dalton," he managed eventually, when he noticed the other man looking at him expectantly.

Smythe drew a gallant bow, apparently pleased that he had been recognized.

Well, it would have to be seen if that smile stayed on his face.

"Until about six months ago," Blaine said slowly, "I thought that one day, that would be me. My father was Lord Richard Smythe. I am your brother."

Smythe took a few steps back, his face an expression that, in other circumstances, would have been funny in its dismay and surprise.

"Well," he said after a long moment, "that rather does put a damper on things." He bowed again. "Have a nice evening."

He left the balcony, closing the doors behind him.

" _Wait!_ " Blaine wanted to shout. " _Wait! Don't you want to get to know me? I am your family_!"

He didn't, though. He remembered all too well the words of the solicitor, that the new earl had no desire to meet that side of the family, but wished instead to claim his inheritance as fast as possible.

He had no desire to be rejected by this man.

He stayed outside for a long while after this, watching night settle in over Lady Susan's gardens. Then, when he thought he couldn't put it off any longer, he went back inside. The bright lights of the ball room seemed unreal to him. He smiled and answered when Lady St. James hooked her arm under his and asked where he had been, but it didn't seem like he was really there.

It didn't appear right that the world just went on turning when he had just been brazenly approached and then discarded like so much dirt by his own brother.

But it did, and so he did his duty, like he always did. He smiled, talked, and danced, and in the end, he escorted his mother home, answering her questions about his evening with monosyllabic, yet pleasant remarks about the charming ladies and the lively music.

But the whole time, he thought about how unlikeable he must be if even his brother wanted nothing to do with him.

But that was his life now. Tedium, duty, boring clothes and being stared at at parties—such was his life, and who knew how long that might last.

He managed a laugh at his self-pity, but that didn't mean it was over.

And it really was his life for the next few days. He made polite conversation at meals with his grandmama, he took his mother shopping and sometimes rode in the park in the mornings. He watched clerks on the way to work, nannies who took their little charges to outings, ladies and gentlemen on their way to some engagement or other. All of their lives seemed more interesting than his and infinitely preferable.

Worst were the words on his lips every time he was in company of his mother. _I met my half-brother,_ he wanted to say. _I would like to know him, but he didn't even look me in the eyes._ And he wanted to ask, _Did you never suspect? Did you never think there might be another woman in my father's life?_

He didn't, though. His mother was happier now than he had ever seen her, though prone to occasionally bitterness about her loss of wealth and status. It would do no good to anyone to rip open those wounds. And, his parents' marriage had not been a loving one; as far as he knew, there might have been more than one other woman in his father's life, although he hopefully had not married those.

Anyway, a few days of this, of questions, doubt, and tedium, sufficed to make him feel like he was going mad.

But when he woke up on Wednesday morning, Blaine felt different. It wasn't immediately clear to him why, but he was looking forward to the day.

Then he remembered, and smiled. Today he was going to another of Lady St. James little musical affairs. Kurt would perhaps be there. And although he remembered their first meeting with more than one cringe of embarrassment, he had hopes that today would be less awkward. If he could manage to conduct himself with a modicum of human behavior.

At breakfast, he was unusually talkative and was even capable of charming his grandmama into a benevolent smile that only flickered a little when he mentioned the standing invitation of Lady St. James.

He changed into one of his more outgoing waistcoats, then walked to Sir Jesse's grand town house. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the streets he walked along and the houses he saw seemed more picturesque than usual.

Or maybe that was just because he was going to see Kurt.

He shook his head about himself. His infatuation with the beautiful singer was getting out of hand; there was no cause for him to think that way about him after one meeting, not to mention that whatever his thoughts might be, they would never lead anywhere.

On the other hand, there was little enough good in his life right now, and he enjoyed falling asleep to thoughts of Kurt a lot more than to thoughts about why his brother didn't want to know him or where his life was going.

When he arrived, Lady St. James's little affair was in full swing, but Kurt wasn't there. Blaine tried to hide his disappointment as well as he could, but he couldn't help being a little more quiet than usual.

He must have been more obvious than he thought, because, as he once more was looking over his shoulder in the direction of the door, Rachel whispered,

"He will come. He doesn't want to see everyone at once, so he will wait until most are gone. Just stay long enough."

So Blaine had hope to see Kurt after all, but it also made him feel all the more intrigued about the man. If these were his friends—and Rachel had strongly suggested that they were—why was he so hesitant to see them? Why would he not come back for a long time although everyone would be happy to see him?

Despite these questions, however, he was now able to actually enjoy himself instead of being torn between disappointment that Kurt wasn't there and the irresistible urge to look towards the door to see if he might not be arriving.

Some of the present people were very nice and seemed eager to deepen their acquaintance. He had a pleasant conversation with Miss Tina Cohen-Chang, who was a good singer and a spirited talker and made him forget Kurt for moments at a time. Mrs Evans and her husband were there as well, for the last time, they explained, before their departure to the country the day after tomorrow.

Blaine was sorry about that, for he liked them both; Samuel especially, he felt, could be a real friend to him if circumstances were different.

"You could come visit in a few weeks," Sam offered. "It would be nice to see familiar faces where we live then, and it would be a shame to leave this new acquaintance as it is."

"I should like that very much," Blaine said gratefully. "I would like to see you both again, and it might be nice to get out of the city."

He had loved his childhood days on his family's country estate. Even without any friends, there had been countless possibilities to spend the day, and most of all, escape his father's stern face and his mother's depressed one except for meals. Those days were lost to him now, as was the estate.

"You could even bring a friend, maybe," Sam said and winked. Blaine smiled. It was unlikely he would find a friend to bring to an extended visit without causing a scandal, but he was thankful for the offer all the same.

Finally, when everyone but Mr and Mrs Evans were gone, Kurt appeared. To Blaine, he looked anxious and ill at ease, but there was no reason for it from the way he was received. Their hostess and the other guests swarmed around him the moment he stepped through the door, exclaiming how glad they were to see him and how wonderful it was that he was here. So it took a little while until Blaine had a chance to talk to Kurt, and until then, he had passed his unease and it felt like he was at home there.

Kurt came over to Blaine and offered him a hand shake and a smile. "Mr. Anderson. I'm glad to see you again."

Blaine felt a giant smile take over his face as he took the offered hand. "Mr. Hummel. I'm very happy to see you."

Mr. Hummel. Blaine had thought of him as Kurt since he had first met him; it felt strange to remember now that their relationship was not one to justify first names. He imagined their relationship to progress to that point and would have smiled if he hadn't already.

They didn't talk much. Kurt was asked to sing and did, although he jested that he usually was paid for it. Blaine was only to glad to listen to him, equally mesmerized by his voice as he had been at the concert.

Lady St. James's Wednesday morning went much longer than usual, but at some point she announced there was only time for one last song, since her husband was about to return and they had guests in the afternoon.

"You should offer Kurt to accompany him," she whispered to Blaine as everyone was taking their leave. "He won't take a cab, and it is a long walk."

Blaine thought that Kurt would probably not appreciate the offer of an escort as if he were a damsel in need of protection, but he was eager to talk more with him, so he thought of a way to word the offer so it might be acceptable.

"Would you allow me to walk a little with you? It's a beautiful day, and I don't want to go home yet."

The last part was true, definitely, though if it was a fine day was debatable. As fine as you would see in London when there was no pea soup fog and little rain. It was good enough.

Kurt looked him over and smiled. "You're dressed colorfully, but not too fine, I see. That is good. You may accompany me."


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine approached his former home slowly, cautiously, as he would a wild animal. Even from the outside, it didn't look the same anymore: now that he didn't live here, didn't belong here anymore, the mansion looked more imposing, more forbidding. Like however he was dressed, whoever he _was,_ it would never be good enough.

It was not to be helped, though. His curiosity was simply too insistent: he had to know why Sebastian had asked to see him. What, after that overwhelmingly awkward and embarrassing first meeting, they could possibly have to say to each other. He was not without trepidations—he had not forgotten how he had felt after that first meeting, and as little as he knew Sebastian, he would not put it past him to invite him just to mock him.

When the butler opened the door, Blaine remembered Kurt's words about how Rachel's butler would look at him—like something the cat had dragged in. It seemed to be a look that every butler had for every visitor.

"Yes?" the butler asked, only it was longer, more a "yeees?", accompanied by a look down the butler's long nose that seemed to ask, "What would someone like you want here?"

"My name is Blaine Anderson," Blaine said, pulling himself together. After all, he had dealt with dozens of butlers, albeit in a position that was very different from the one he was in now.

"His lordship awaits me."

He was led into a parlor and told to wait. It was the same parlor his mother had used to receive visitors in, but her carefully chosen furniture had been replaced. Blaine wasn't sure he liked the new décor. Sebastian didn't have bad taste, but the new pieces were rather ostentatious and very obviously expensive. Besides, he had liked the room the way it was before.

The place of honor above the fireplace, where as long as he could think his father's portrait had hung, where, he had been told, every current Earl's portrait had hung since his great-grandfather had bought the place, was instead occupied by a tasteful landscape. Blaine supposed it was possible that his father's portrait was upstairs in the gallery and Sebastian's was still in commission, but somehow, he doubted it. He had a feeling the new Earl didn't give much for tradition.

He didn't have long to view his surroundings, as after only a few minutes, Sebastian entered the room.

"I'm very happy you're here," the young Earl said after they made their bows.

He gestured at the elegant settee and himself sat down in a fauteuil before the fireplace. "I'll ring for tea, shall I?"

Blaine smiled and agreed, thinking to himself that there was nothing to see of the over-confident, even arrogant man he had met at the ball. Here, now, Sebastian came across as nervous, insecure and not quite at home in his own house. He also did seem at a loss at what to say just as much as Blaine.

They were almost silent except for a few polite remarks about the weather, until the tea came. Even then, Sebastian took his time stirring sugar into his tea, then taking a sip before he finally spoke.

"I'm very glad you came," he then repeated. "I've been...regretting the way our first meeting went. And I'm sure that you'll agree with me when I say that...the way this meeting went would best be forgotten." He smiled, and Blaine couldn't help but smile as well. In that, at least, Sebastian was right.

"But...I've been thinking, and I would like to get to know you. As my brother, not...you know, what I proposed earlier, of course."

"I would like that too," Blaine said softly. "My only brother died when I was very young, and I've always wanted siblings."

"Well, no chance of that with a father like this, really. I can't imagine any woman wanting to bed him more than once, for all his wealth and status."

Blaine gave out a surprised laugh. It was what he had always not quite allowed himself to think, and he knew it was mostly true: an heir and a spare, and then, to his mother's relief and satisfaction, his father had sought his pleasures elsewhere.

"So we do have that in common," he said softly. "We do not like the man who sired us."

"No," Sebastian said vehemently. "If...you want to hear it, I had wanted to tell you about him. And us. It might—not excuse, but explain—my initial coldness towards you."

"I'll listen," Blaine promised. He was intrigued. This Sebastian was a whole other person than the one he had so briefly met at the ball.

"The Earl married my mother when she was very young. He was, I understand, a man of strong appetites who wasn't used to accepting no for an answer, and she was very religious and had grown up without much contact to men. So he persuaded her to elope with him to get what he wanted, but he must have planned to leave her from the beginning, for the wedding was in secret, without guests or any witnesses but the priest, whom he bribed to burn the marriage certificate. My mother was very much in love with him, so she let him decide everything how he wanted, just so he would marry her."

Blaine nodded. He had wondered how such a clandestine marriage had been possible, but he could imagine a naïve young girl under the spell of a sophisticated older man, who was an Earl on top of that. Even if that Earl was his father.

"He took a house in the country for them," Sebastian continued, "far away from anyone they knew, saying it was their honeymoon, and that later they would return to the city and he would introduce her to his family. But after a few weeks, he—left. And didn't come back."

"I'm so sorry," Blaine said. It seemed like the right thing to do, even though he had had no part in his father's actions and no words could atone for them. "What did she do?"

Sebastian laughed bitterly. "What could she do? By then she was expecting, and she was still so in love with him that she waited for him far too long, keeping the house much longer than she could afford. Then she went back to her parents. But she couldn't prove she was wed, so they disowned her. Finally she went to live with her sister and her family. This is where I grew up. But we were...kept as little more than servants, and were always reminded we were dependent on their charity. They did not let me go to school—my mother taught me—and after my mother died last year, they made it very clear I was not welcome there anymore."

Blaine was silent. He had noticed that Sebastian did not disclose how he had survived in the time between his mother's death and his inheritance. He would not ask. He could imagine it had been hard, and would be hard to tell.

"So—when I met you, the first thing I felt was resentment. I felt that you had become the upbringing that should have been mine, and been prepared for the title that I am now bearing. I'm sorry. I can imagine that with a father like that, your childhood cannot have been easy."

"He was mostly away," Blaine said with a little smile, "but—no, it wasn't."

For a while, they were silent. Blaine took one of the delicate little sandwiches offered and noticed that Sebastian had apparently kept their cook. He was glad and promised himself to visit the kitchen on his way out. But the silence lasted longer than expected, and after a while, he made himself ask.

"My lord, what do you want? Why did you ask me to come?"

"First of all, I'd like you to call me Sebastian. I...do enjoy being an earl, but you are my brother, and if possible, I'd like us to be friends. I...need your help."

Blaine was taken aback. If he was honest, he had expected some kind of motive in Sebastian's surprising invitation, maybe a bribe or even a threat in order to keep him silent about what had happened at the ball. Sebastian's tale of how he grew up had made him change his mind, but he had not expected him to ask for help.

"I was not brought up to be an Earl. I don't know anything about...anything, really. I don't know about etiquette, or managing an estate, or even how to properly receive guests. I've managed so far by coming across as cocky and arrogant and being above these things, but I don't think it will take long for people to realize that it's a front."

"Wait, you're not cocky and arrogant?" Blaine teased. He wasn't sure if he could take the liberty to do that, but he wouldn't want to spend a lot of time with Sebastian if he couldn't. In a way, this was a test.

But Sebastian laughed. "Oh no, I am. I'm afraid that won't change. But I'd like to know the rules of society before I decide I'm above them."

He grew serious again. "I'd like you to teach me, if you would. I'm willing to pay, or...whatever you want, really. If you'd like to move back here, for example—there are rooms enough."

Blaine went home contemplating Sebastian's amazingly generous offer. It was tempting to escape his grandmother's watchful eyes by moving in with Sebastian—and they couldn't even say anything against it. He'd be officially employed as his lordship's private secretary, a position which he was rather over-educated for, but which was still honorable. A lot of his problems would be solved—he'd have employment with someone who could perhaps become a friend, if not a brother, he'd be out from under his grandmother's nose, and he'd have the liberty to more often see Kurt.

But—would he really? He'd be an employee in the house that once was to be his. He might get his old bedroom, but would know Sebastian occupied the master suite. He did not, as such, begrudge Sebastian the title and the wealth, not after the life he had led and the stipulations Blaine knew came with both. He didn't want that life back. Sebastian was welcome to it.

But to be a guest—a servant of sorts—in the house that had once been his home, was a little too much.

There was another reason he would probably decline the offer, and Blaine was caught between a smile and a wince when he thought that this reason had a lot to do with Kurt.

He hadn't forgotten Kurt's reaction at the thought of taking money from anyone, nor his own resolution to become independent from his grandmother. And was taking money from Sebastian really so different than taking money from Grandmama? Especially since he would only nominally be a secretary, really performing a service he would gladly do just for friendship's sake, and maybe the occasional taste of his former cook's excellent cooking.

He'd never stand on his own feet if he kept taking money from his relations, be it grandmother or brother.

So he would write those letters, using his connections to get a positions in which then, hopefully, he could prove himself, prove that he was something more than a spoiled Earl's son.

He wanted to be as independent-minded as Kurt. He wanted to be—God help him—someone Kurt could be proud of. And if, in the process, he could be someone he could be proud of himself—well, that would be a nice change.


	6. Chapter 6

The next Wednesday, after Blaine had sung a few duets and accompanied a few of the ladies on the pianoforte, Lady gestured for him to sit down beside her. When he did, she said matter-of-factly, "I've sent a footman to your grandmother, informing her that you will have lunch with us ans afterwards stay for a game of cards and tea, so you'll not be expected home until the evening."

Blaine was silent and slightly shocked that Lady would take it upon herself to decide over his day so completely. Belatedly, he remembered his manners.

"As always, I am at your service," he said, inclining his head, only to immediately raise it again to look at the door, which had just opened to admit Kurt Hummel.

His mood lifted at once, although he hoped that Kurt would also be invited to tea and cards so he could enjoy his company for longer.

They could only smile at each other before Kurt was enthusiastically greeted by the other ladies present, each imploring him to duet with her. Kurt seemed to be in a hospitable mood, for he indulged them for a while, and Blaine was content to sit and just listen.

One by one, however, the ladies (for there were no other gentlemen present) took their leave, and finally, Blaine was the last in the drawing room together with Kurt and Lady .

He expected them to be called to luncheon when, after a short knock, a servant entered the room. Silently, she handed a big picknick basket to Rachel, curtsied, and left.

Rachel rose, and with a smile, offered the basket to Blaine, who took it although he didn't understand.

"The butler will give you your coats," she said. "You can keep the basket or return it next Wednesday, however you prefer. Have a lovely afternoon."

Then she smiled, and left the room.

Having risen when Rachel rose, Blaine stood uncertainly in the room, feeling he must have missed something.

Briskly, Kurt took the basket from him, and Blaine trailed after him. Together, they left. After a while of walking in silence, Blaine finally thought to ask.

"Mr. Hummel..." he began, but Kurt laughed.

"Surely," he said, "we should be calling each other by our first names."

That didn't help Blaine's confusion. They had come, he thought, to a kind of understanding regarding their mutual...inclinations, but their acquaintance was rather short to see the use of first names as a matter of course.

He wasn't about to protest, though.

"Kurt, then." He inclined his head. "Could you tell me what is going on? I was told there would be luncheon, and cards..." He stopped, unsure. He didn't want Kurt to get the impression Blaine was unhappy to be left alone with him; nothing could be further from the truth.

"Oh my god," Kurt said, stopping. "I thought you had agreed...I thought she had talked to you...I'm so sorry. Please, feel free to go home."

"That doesn't do anything to lessen my confusion," Blaine said with a little laugh. "And I don't want to go home."

Kurt nodded and kept on walking. He was silent, but Blaine felt it was only from trying to find the right words.

"Rachel...I guess it's another way she, as you put it, tries to support me. Equally unwanted as the money, I assure you, although I've come to regard it as more of...harmless form of entertainment for her. But since she is a bored rich man's wife, she has taken it upon herself to...matchmake. This-" he gestured between the two of them and the picknick basket - "is her, matchmaking."

Blaine stood, shocked. "She—she is trying to make a match—of us?" He had the urgent feeling he should be going home immediately, but it battled with the thought to stay and try to keep the damage to as little as possible.

But as he stood there in silence, Kurt turned to look at him. Blaine's face must have shown something of what he was thinking, for Kurt spoke at once, in a quiet, but urgent voice.

"You can trust her. I was speaking thoughtlessly; I forgot you don't know her as I do. She would never do anything that could betray us."

"How do you know?" Blaine said. It was the first and maybe most important question of the hundreds he had.

"She has kept my secrets for years." But when Blaine still just looked at him, he sighed and continued. "She has a lot of experience. Her father and his business partner were more than just that."

"Oh," Blaine said. It was more than he could comprehend at the moment, so he decided to not inquire further. He returned to walking in the hopes it would calm his mind, but there was one question at least he could not help but asking.

"How did she know...about me?"

Kurt walked up to him. Together they walked, the basket between them. Nobody who saw them, Blaine convinced himself, would see anything more then friends.

"Once she decided -" Kurt said, "that she wanted to have you in her circle, and then, that she saw you as someone who could be...better acquainted with me, she would have discreetly inquired after you. I assume there is some incident in your past that would have convinced her you might...share my inclinations."

Blaine nodded. He didn't like to remember that incident, but it had happened, and he knew that if someone dug deep enough, they could uncover it. He supposed he should be happy it was someone with ultimately good intentions.

"I promise you, you're safe," Kurt said. "And I'd never have thought she would just ….decide for you. I thought she had talked to you."

"Talked to me," Blaine said. "You mean, asked if I wanted to...with you? I must say I am very glad that conversation never happened."

Kurt laughed, but immediately grew serious again. "I'm sorry we frightened you. As I said, I would understand if you preferred to go home."

Blaine hesitated. He still wasn't completely comfortable with everything, and still part of him told him to run and never set eyes on either Rachel or Kurt again. But that was just too much to ask, and he decided he would get over his discomfort if it meant he could spend time with Kurt.

There were some boundaries he had to set, though.

"Can we go to your room, as planned, and eat our luncheon, and...just talk? Without any further expectations?"

"Certainly," Kurt said, looking relieved. "Gladly. I never had any expectations anyway. Not all things go as Rachel has planned, you know."

Kurt's room was about the size of Blaine's dressing room at home, but for all that, very tidy and cozy. And colorful. Shawls and kerchiefs and lengths of cloth in various colors and patterns were pinned to the wall, that was, Blaine could see from the few uncovered places, made of planks of wood.

"It helps keeping out the cold," Kurt explained with, Blaine thought, a bit of embarrassment in his tone.

"It also looks very pretty," Blaine said, and was rewarded with a smile.

Then it got awkward as none of them knew what to say anymore. Blaine feared if he kept looking at Kurt, he would not be able to keep his resolve of only talking today, so he looked about the room. There was not much to look at apart from the extravagant wall hangings: a bed and a wash stand behind a screen, a worn arm chair before the fireplace, a clothes press. A board above the bed with a few books on it and a little wooden box. Yet it seemed, in this room, with this man, that it was all anyone could ever need.

Blaine turned around to look at Kurt again, who was busy with putting a blanket and some colorful cushions out on the floor before the fireplace, and then quickly making a fire. Blaine watched him, marveling at how swift and efficient and yet graceful he was. When Kurt felt Blaine's glance on him, he looked up and smiled. Blaine looked at his lips and wondered if just talking was really necessary. Surely, the harm was already done? If Rachel should let something slip, or they had been indiscreet, their reputations would be ruined already.

Kurt was still smiling, and Blaine realized he had noticed his eyes on his lips. He swallowed. Maybe talking was necessary after all; he just wasn't quite ready for anything else.

Awkwardly, he sat down on the blanket, waited until Kurt had joined him, and opened the picknick basket. He stared for a moment, not having expected the lavish feast inside.

"Oh," Kurt said, sounding delighted. He began setting everything out on the blanket. "There's meat pie, look, and that's...duck, I think, and roasted potatoes. Wait, I'm going to put them over the fire for a moment."

Blaine took over his task. He put out more, sweet pie, two glasses and a bottle of what was clearly a very good, very expensive wine. In a corner of his mind, he understood that Kurt was giving them time, busying himself until he joined him and they would have to talk. He found he simultaneously dreaded and longed for the moment.

But when Kurt finally sat down with him on the blanket, bringing the now hot and delicious-smelling food with him, they were mostly silent as they ate. Blaine didn't know why Kurt didn't talk, but he did know why he himself was silent: as he watched Kurt eat and clearly savor the food and wine, he didn't trust his voice.

He was helplessly watching Kurt's tongue wipe away a drop of wine on his lip, and imagining his own in its place. He knew that if he spoke, it would be terribly inappropriate.

But Kurt must have again noticed him watching, and under his gaze, his knowing smile, Blaine found it impossible to keep silent.

"I know we said no expectations," he began hesitantly, "but..."

"If I didn't expect anything else," Kurt said, delivering him from the need to say more, "would it be alright for me to kiss you?"

Blaine nodded quickly, and then watched, confused, as Kurt slowly and methodically put aside the remains of their picknick.

He'd had a governess once who was very fond of the saying, "Good things come to those who wait". He'd hated it then, but now as he watched Kurt, the movements of his hands, the way he smiled at him, teasingly, every few seconds, made him appreciate it more. So he didn't try to speed up the proceedings by helping, but instead watched Kurt, saw him scoot a little closer on the blanket with every few items he removed, and waited for the good things to come.

Finally, Kurt was sitting right in front of him, the blanket empty except for the two of them, and smiled. Then, he put one hand on Blaine's cheek and kissed him.

Blaine closed his eyes and gave himself over to the kiss. He had never been kissed like that before—had never been kissed much at all, except for quickly and furtively in the dark, as a preamble to the real goal. It had meant nothing then.

But now—slowly, unhurried, without anything else in mind, no other want except feeling Kurt's lips on his, and then, tentatively, his tongue—it meant so much.

Too much, maybe. But he had been invested in this—in Kurt—too much since the moment he had first heard him sing, so that was nothing new. Only—more.

He let himself sink back until he was lying on the blanket. Kurt stopped kissing him and looked at him, as if to ask if he still wanted everything that was happening, and it made Blaine put his arms around him and pull him back down.

But to his chagrin, Kurt didn't immediately continue to kiss him, but instead smiled against his lips.

"You know, sometimes I don't mind when Rachel gets her will."


	7. Chapter 7

"Would you call me a hypocrite," Kurt asked, "for ranting against Rachel when she gives me money, but liking it very much when she gives me food?"

They had stopped kissing for the moment, but were still lying on the blanket, close together, legs intertwined. Kurt was nibbling on a slice of sweet pie, laughing as he tried to keep the filling from squishing out. Outside, the day was moving on, but in here, time seemed to stand still. Far too soon, Blaine would have to leave in order to get home in time for dinner, but for now, he was happy where he was.

"It's food," he said, shrugging. "Most people like food."

"Most people also like money," Kurt pointed out. "And don't get me wrong, I do as well. Having money is very convenient."

"Then-"

"Are you aware," Kurt interrupted, "that more than half of London's population lives the way I do, or in far worse circumstances?"

"I...never really thought about it, to be honest." Blaine was slightly ashamed; Kurt, however, looked like he hadn't expected anything else. Few of Blaine's social standing were aware they lived in a protective little bubble in which they met only people of their own class, and the craftsmen, merchants and servants that provided for them but were mostly ignored.

"I am not poor. A lot of my acquaintance consider me quite well-off. I have my own room with a window and a fireplace, I can afford to support my stepmother and still eat, and most of all, I earn my living doing something I love. It's only people like Rachel that consider me a charity case, when there are so many more worthy projects she could set her mind to."

Blaine couldn't help thinking that Kurt was right. Watching him here, in his own space, he didn't seem like he was lacking something.

"I'm not out on the street or sleeping on the rope," Kurt continued, "unlike some other people I know who grew up in quite similar circumstances. There are a lot who'd need Rachel's money much more than I do."

Then he smiled again as he took another bite out of the pie. "Food, on the other hand, especially food like this - is just a gift from a friend."

Blaine sat up and also took a slice of pie. "I happen to know," he said after a little hesitation, "that Sir Jesse and Lady St. James donate a lot of money to a lot of causes. I think, maybe, that for Rachel, the money she gives to you is also just a gift from a friend."

Kurt looked at him. After a while, he nodded. "You may be right. Still, I don't like it, and I have repeatedly told her so. But well, what do I expect—it was never her way to listen to somebody else when she thought she knew better."

After a moment of silence, he shrugged, smiled, and pulled Blaine towards him. Blaine rather hurriedly put his slice of pie aside. A glance at the window showed him they had time for a few more kisses, at the very least.

* * *

"Now, what do you do to ask someone to dance?"

"I go to whatever lady I plan to dance with, bow, then ask her to honor me with the next. Then I will try not to look on the floor and count my steps while I step on her toes for a song or two. Afterwards, I escort her back to her parents or friends. But this will never happen. I've been excusing myself from dancing up to now, and I will keep doing that in the future. I don't know how to dance."

"We'll come to that later. But as I told you, you can afford to be known as a bad dancer, but not as someone who doesn't know how to behave. Now, what else have I told you about dancing?"

Blaine was, by now, a little exasperated. Sebastian was not a bad student, but sometimes Blaine wished he would just take him at his word every now and then instead of questioning everything.

"Um—never exert myself to the point of sweating. Men who refuse to dance at all make themselves more unpopular than bad dancers—thank you, I understood that, you know—and—oh, never dance too many dances with the same young lady."

"Right," Blaine said and tried to come up with a way to teach Sebastian to dance without having to actually dance with him.

"But I don't understand that," Sebastian said, causing Blaine to sigh. "Why can't I dance again with a girl I like, if we, say, talked about something interesting the moment the music ended?"

"Because people will think you want to marry her. You will raise hopes in her and her family, because, let's face it, you are a very eligible match."

He remembered all too well the speculative glances and whispers if he happened to be more attentive to one girl than the others. It was one part of being an earl—or heir to one—he really didn't miss.

"What if I want to marry her?"

"You—you want to marry?"

"Well. I thought getting married and producing an heir was part of the whole thing of being an earl."

Blaine couldn't help but nod. It was; there was no denying people would expect and even pressure Sebastian to marry, and soon.

"But—you don't like women." Blaine wasn't quite sure why he was protesting; it was by no means unusual for men like him to get married—be it as camouflage, because they wanted children or for a thousand other reasons. It was even possible that Sebastian did like women as well as men.

But he was shaking his head.

"No, I don't. Not that way. What's your point?"

"I just thought -" It was stupid. He hadn't even made up his own mind about whether or not to marry, back when that was still an important question.

"You thought it'd be the honorable thing not to marry when I won't love my wife."

Blaine nodded, somewhat sheepishly. His parents had not loved one another, and while their open loathing had been seen as somewhat indecent, like hating each other should be done behind closed doors, nobody had seen it as unusual.

"Well," Sebastian continued, "I plan to make sure my wife won't love me either. I want to someone who will take me solely for my money and my title, and who, if possible, will tolerate me looking for entertainment somewhere else, and who will make a decent companion otherwise. I will treat her with respect, the need for discretion will make sure I don't flaunt my affairs, and I'm sure I will be able to give her a child or two. She'll have it better than a lot of other women. At least my wife won't die alone in a little room behind the kitchen while her relatives discuss if she's worth the cost of a doctor."

Blaine could not think of anything to say in the face of Sebastian's bitterness. He guessed that his mother had died like this, and he felt a great deal of shame for his father, the late and unmissed earl, who had let his first wife die in poverty and loneliness.

"You're right," he conceded in a low voice. He still thought it was dishonest somehow, especially since Sebastian's wife probably would not have the freedom to seek her pleasure elsewhere.

But that was the way their society worked, and in the end, there was no big difference if the husband strayed into the bed of another woman or into that of a man.

"Speaking of discretion," he said, both to change the subject and because it was something he had meant to talk to Sebastian about. "You need to be more—well, discreet."

"What?"

"You have been seen in the company of the same young man twice; a young man, I might add, who is—at least in certain circles—known for frequenting molly houses."

"So?"

Again, Blaine was at a loss for words. He remembered his own first meeting with Sebastian, and the reasons he had listed for being able to be so...open in his solicitations. All of these still applied: Sebastian was an earl, and his wealth and title would protect him, if not his partners, from most of the consequences a discovery would have for most men. If he was indeed, as he had said, a good pugilist, this would protect him from most private hostilities.

But still, Blaine worried. He didn't know why he didn't want Sebastian to flaunt his proclivities; he hoped it didn't have anything to do with wanting to protect the reputation of the earldom. Maybe it was just that he didn't want to lose his half brother's company, which, while exasperating, was often a lot of fun and considerably widened his horizon. But should word get out that Sebastian was someone who, as it were, corrupted young men, his grandmother, unaware that he was far beyond corrupting, would certainly forbid Blaine to associate with him.

So he decided on a tactical approach, since he doubted that the desire alone to protect his maybe less affluent and influential prospective partners would be enough to convince Sebastian to be more cautious.

"Imagine one of the young men of our general acquaintance, many of whom are very handsome and might also be...amenable to your suggestions, catching your eye. If you continue like this, you will soon have a reputation, and no young man, how handsome and willing he might be, will be as much as seen with you, no less go anywhere alone, for fear of getting the same reputation."

He could see he had made an impression on Sebastian, who seemed to seriously think about his words.

"Most people don't have the money and influence that allows you to ignore society's restrictions and even the law," he continued. Most people also care what their families think about them, he thought, though he didn't say it. He was well aware that except for the unloved relatives of his mother, he was the only family Sebastian had. And considering, Sebastian could be pretty sure Blaine would not think any worse of him for whom he bedded.

"You make a good point," Sebastian conceded. "I knew I would have to care about more things now than just where my next meal comes from, but I couldn't have foreseen anything like this."

Blaine guessed that all the endless little rules of etiquette could be hard to remember when one hadn't grown up with them, but he thought that especially someone like Sebastian would consider other people's situation in life more than someone who had only ever moved in their own circle.

Then again, Sebastian had never claimed to be anything but selfish, and as an earl, he was at least in good company.

"So you will be more careful?" Blaine asked.

"I can try," Sebastian replied," but sometimes people get over-enthusiastic when they meet me. It's the charm, you know..."

He grinned, and Blaine couldn't help but smile. The charm was undeniably there, and if Sebastian managed to tone it down, he would be very successful in society.

"You must help my though." Sebastian continued. "Maybe point me towards the right men. If I am to be discreet, I don't know how to find someone."

Find someone you admire, Blaine thought, someone who is smart and funny and in whose arms you forget the time and the world around you.

"Someone for the night, I mean. I'm not asking for anything more," Sebastian said. "I don't believe in love—see where it got my mother. And even if I did—men like us can hardly ask for love, can we?"

Blaine thought that maybe they could. Maybe he did.


	8. Chapter 8

"Would you call me a hypocrite," Kurt asked, "for ranting against Rachel when she gives me money, but liking it very much when she gives me food?"

They had stopped kissing for the moment, but were still lying on the blanket, close together, legs intertwined. Kurt was nibbling on a slice of sweet pie, laughing as he tried to keep the filling from squishing out. Outside, the day was moving on, but in here, time seemed to stand still. Far too soon, Blaine would have to leave in order to get home in time for dinner, but for now, he was happy where he was.

"It's food," he said, shrugging. "Most people like food."

"Most people also like money," Kurt pointed out. "And don't get me wrong, I do as well. Having money is very convenient."

"Then-"

"Are you aware," Kurt interrupted, "that more than half of London's population lives the way I do, or in far worse circumstances?"

"I...never really thought about it, to be honest." Blaine was slightly ashamed; Kurt, however, looked like he hadn't expected anything else. Few of Blaine's social standing were aware they lived in a protective little bubble in which they met only people of their own class, and the craftsmen, merchants and servants that provided for them but were mostly ignored.

"I am not poor. A lot of my acquaintance consider me quite well-off. I have my own room with a window and a fireplace, I can afford to support my stepmother and still eat, and most of all, I earn my living doing something I love. It's only people like Rachel that consider me a charity case, when there are so many more worthy projects she could set her mind to."

Blaine couldn't help thinking that Kurt was right. Watching him here, in his own space, he didn't seem like he was lacking something.

"I'm not out on the street or sleeping on the rope," Kurt continued, "unlike some other people I know who grew up in quite similar circumstances. There are a lot who'd need Rachel's money much more than I do."

Then he smiled again as he took another bite out of the pie. "Food, on the other hand, especially food like this - is just a gift from a friend."

Blaine sat up and also took a slice of pie. "I happen to know," he said after a little hesitation, "that Sir Jesse and Lady St. James donate a lot of money to a lot of causes. I think, maybe, that for Rachel, the money she gives to you is also just a gift from a friend."

Kurt looked at him. After a while, he nodded. "You may be right. Still, I don't like it, and I have repeatedly told her so. But well, what do I expect—it was never her way to listen to somebody else when she thought she knew better."

After a moment of silence, he shrugged, smiled, and pulled Blaine towards him. Blaine rather hurriedly put his slice of pie aside. A glance at the window showed him they had time for a few more kisses, at the very least.

–-

"Now, what do you do to ask someone to dance?"

"I go to whatever lady I plan to dance with, bow, then ask her to honor me with the next. Then I will try not to look on the floor and count my steps while I step on her toes for a song or two. Afterwards, I escort her back to her parents or friends. But this will never happen. I've been excusing myself from dancing up to now, and I will keep doing that in the future. I don't know how to dance."

"We'll come to that later. But as I told you, you can afford to be known as a bad dancer, but not as someone who doesn't know how to behave. Now, what else have I told you about dancing?"

Blaine was, by now, a little exasperated. Sebastian was not a bad student, but sometimes Blaine wished he would just take him at his word every now and then instead of questioning everything.

"Um—never exert myself to the point of sweating. Men who refuse to dance at all make themselves more unpopular than bad dancers—thank you, I understood that, you know—and—oh, never dance too many dances with the same young lady."

"Right," Blaine said and tried to come up with a way to teach Sebastian to dance without having to actually dance with him.

"But I don't understand that," Sebastian said, causing Blaine to sigh. "Why can't I dance again with a girl I like, if we, say, talked about something interesting the moment the music ended?"

"Because people will think you want to marry her. You will raise hopes in her and her family, because, let's face it, you are a very eligible match."

He remembered all too well the speculative glances and whispers if he happened to be more attentive to one girl than the others. It was one part of being an earl—or heir to one—he really didn't miss.

"What if I want to marry her?"

"You—you want to marry?"

"Well. I thought getting married and producing an heir was part of the whole thing of being an earl."

Blaine couldn't help but nod. It was; there was no denying people would expect and even pressure Sebastian to marry, and soon.

"But—you don't like women." Blaine wasn't quite sure why he was protesting; it was by no means unusual for men like him to get married—be it as camouflage, because they wanted children or for a thousand other reasons. It was even possible that Sebastian did like women as well as men.

But he was shaking his head.

"No, I don't. Not that way. What's your point?"

"I just thought -" It was stupid. He hadn't even made up his own mind about whether or not to marry, back when that was still an important question.

"You thought it'd be the honorable thing not to marry when I won't love my wife."

Blaine nodded, somewhat sheepishly. His parents had not loved one another, and while their open loathing had been seen as somewhat indecent, like hating each other should be done behind closed doors, nobody had seen it as unusual.

"Well," Sebastian continued, "I plan to make sure my wife won't love me either. I want to someone who will take me solely for my money and my title, and who, if possible, will tolerate me looking for entertainment somewhere else, and who will make a decent companion otherwise. I will treat her with respect, the need for discretion will make sure I don't flaunt my affairs, and I'm sure I will be able to give her a child or two. She'll have it better than a lot of other women. At least my wife won't die alone in a little room behind the kitchen while her relatives discuss if she's worth the cost of a doctor."

Blaine could not think of anything to say in the face of Sebastian's bitterness. He guessed that his mother had died like this, and he felt a great deal of shame for his father, the late and unmissed earl, who had let his first wife die in poverty and loneliness.

"You're right," he conceded in a low voice. He still thought it was dishonest somehow, especially since Sebastian's wife probably would not have the freedom to seek her pleasure elsewhere.

But that was the way their society worked, and in the end, there was no big difference if the husband strayed into the bed of another woman or into that of a man.

"Speaking of discretion," he said, both to change the subject and because it was something he had meant to talk to Sebastian about. "You need to be more—well, discreet."

"What?"

"You have been seen in the company of the same young man twice; a young man, I might add, who is—at least in certain circles—known for frequenting molly houses."

"So?"

Again, Blaine was at a loss for words. He remembered his own first meeting with Sebastian, and the reasons he had listed for being able to be so...open in his solicitations. All of these still applied: Sebastian was an earl, and his wealth and title would protect him, if not his partners, from most of the consequences a discovery would have for most men. If he was indeed, as he had said, a good pugilist, this would protect him from most private hostilities.

But still, Blaine worried. He didn't know why he didn't want Sebastian to flaunt his proclivities; he hoped it didn't have anything to do with wanting to protect the reputation of the earldom. Maybe it was just that he didn't want to lose his half brother's company, which, while exasperating, was often a lot of fun and considerably widened his horizon. But should word get out that Sebastian was someone who, as it were, corrupted young men, his grandmother, unaware that he was far beyond corrupting, would certainly forbid Blaine to associate with him.

So he decided on a tactical approach, since he doubted that the desire alone to protect his maybe less affluent and influential prospective partners would be enough to convince Sebastian to be more cautious.

"Imagine one of the young men of our general acquaintance, many of whom are very handsome and might also be...amenable to your suggestions, catching your eye. If you continue like this, you will soon have a reputation, and no young man, how handsome and willing he might be, will be as much as seen with you, no less go anywhere alone, for fear of getting the same reputation."

He could see he had made an impression on Sebastian, who seemed to seriously think about his words.

"Most people don't have the money and influence that allows you to ignore society's restrictions and even the law," he continued. Most people also care what their families think about them, he thought, though he didn't say it. He was well aware that except for the unloved relatives of his mother, he was the only family Sebastian had. And considering, Sebastian could be pretty sure Blaine would not think any worse of him for whom he bedded.

"You make a good point," Sebastian conceded. "I knew I would have to care about more things now than just where my next meal comes from, but I couldn't have foreseen anything like this."

Blaine guessed that all the endless little rules of etiquette could be hard to remember when one hadn't grown up with them, but he thought that especially someone like Sebastian would consider other people's situation in life more than someone who had only ever moved in their own circle.

Then again, Sebastian had never claimed to be anything but selfish, and as an earl, he was at least in good company.

"So you will be more careful?" Blaine asked.

"I can try," Sebastian replied," but sometimes people get over-enthusiastic when they meet me. It's the charm, you know..."

He grinned, and Blaine couldn't help but smile. The charm was undeniably there, and if Sebastian managed to tone it down, he would be very successful in society.

"You must help my though." Sebastian continued. "Maybe point me towards the right men. If I am to be discreet, I don't know how to find someone."

Find someone you admire, Blaine thought, someone who is smart and funny and in whose arms you forget the time and the world around you.

"Someone for the night, I mean. I'm not asking for anything more," Sebastian said. "I don't believe in love—see where it got my mother. And even if I did—men like us can hardly ask for love, can we?"

Blaine thought that maybe they could. Maybe he did.


End file.
